By Jim Nichols

Are ladders for climbing? Must we climb?

There were two small turbines on our roof; their responsibility was to turn in the wind and to draw hot air from within the attic to the outside. It was part of the cooling attempt during hot Texas summers, and they made good sense to my scientific mind. The complication was that they continued to function in the winter. That is, they drew the air from the attic away from the house, thus making the furnace work more. To compensate for this winter problem, I, and many neighbors, would place large plastic trash bags around each turbine when the weather turned cold. This involved climbing onto the roof.

My step ladder was just long enough for me to climb to the top (“Do not stand on the top step,” read the ladder instructions). From there I could pivot around backwards and just scoot onto the roof. Standing up, I would then walk around from that height and do the bagging trick with the bags and duct tape.

I liked it on the roof. The whole neighborhood looked different. The houses seemed closer together and it was more of a community.

I was younger when I did that, and I did not consider that my ladder ability came with lifetime limitations.

There were other ladders I was climbing. As a young professor, I was learning the ropes of the institution; as a new scientist, I was developing research projects designed to uncover useful information. Up the ladder I climbed—committee assignments, positions of semi-influence, conferences to attend, invitations to present.

Jim Nichols in a lab in 1984

I suspect you have been on your own ladders.

It becomes apparent with decades of life that ladders come with restrictions. We begin losing our ability to climb; perhaps we more often lose our interest in climbing. This may be just as well since it means we have finally realized that where we thought we were going may not be worth the climb. There are some clear spiritual implications here.

Francis of Assisi, Catholic mystic, poet, and friar of the twelfth century, has noted that to pray “. . . thy kingdom come,” we must also be willing to say “. . . my kingdoms go.” This may not be the way we live our lives, especially in the first part as we climb those ladders. Early on we are heavily influenced by controls of various sorts that mold us, sometimes, into people we do not want to be. Some are inevitable, but they still control us by false rewards, money, status, even punishment.

To be sure, God desires that we use the gifts he has given us; there are responsibilities that we accept if we wish to be part of the Kingdom. Those responsibilities may not be the same ones that the world seems to want to place on us, however. As we mature, we get better at sorting through what our time and talents are worth and what is just additional ladder-climbing.

A difficult aspect of this sorting is that we must consciously decide to end some pursuits or at least slant off from them. But the ladder has taken us this far; what will happen if we stop climbing? I know where the ladder has brought me, but what is ahead is unknown. None of us likes the unknown.

Mary Engelbreit is an illustrator/artist who, like many visual people, can touch an important topic in a simple, yet profound, way. She depicts a traveler at a crossroad. There is a signpost at the crossroad pointing in two directions. To one direction it reads “Your life.” To the other it reads, “No longer an option.” It is noteworthy that the second sign does not read that something is wrong; it just states a fact that that direction, though perhaps fine in the past, is no longer an option.

I am at the point, and you may be too, where some possibilities are no longer options. Does that mean that God is through with us?

Not at all. The history of God’s people and our own personal history is that opportunities of faith and love always appear. Let us keep eyes and ears open for them.

Jim Nichols is a retired Abilene Christian University biology professor and current hospital chaplain